


When the dust settles

by Aviss



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Spoilers, episode s805
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-05 14:14:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18830329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviss/pseuds/Aviss
Summary: When the dust settles, Jaime is still breathing though everything hurts.





	1. Jaime

**Author's Note:**

> Surprisingly I thought the shitshow of the last episode would prevent me from writing. The opposite seems to be true. This won't be finished by Sunday I don't think so, but I'll try to have it.  
> Content warning in the end notes.

When the dust settles Jaime's still breathing though everything hurts.

He tries to move and finds it's possible; somehow he's ended under a kind of arch and not crushed the way he should have been. He looks frantically around, hoping to see if Cersei has been equally fortunate, but he can only see rocks everywhere and not too far from where he's laying a splash of crimson under the masonry; it's either her gown or her blood, but it's enough to let him know she didn't make it.

With a sigh, Jaime lets his head fall back. So he couldn't even manage this, to die with her.

He feels like laughing.

He feels like screaming.

He closes his eyes and lets bitter tears run down his face until the darkness claims him again.

The next time he resurfaces there's only darkness around him, night must have fallen. He wonders how his brother fares, whether he's escaped the judgement of the Mad Queen. Turns out she really is her father reborn, and her father had never shown any mercy to those he believed betrayed him, whether they really did or not. He hopes Tyrion is as far away from King's Landing as his little legs can carry him.

He wonders if the Queen will now turn her eyes on the North; Lady Sansa had made no secret of her opposition of her and mad rulers hardly need more provocation than that. He really hopes not, the Starks deserve to keep the North out of this madness, to keep their people safe the same way they kept the entire realm safe from the dead. He needs to know _she_ at least survives all this madness.

He stops his thoughts there before he can conjure up her face in his mind, take any solace in it. He doesn't have the right, not anymore, he forsook it when he left her behind weeping in the courtyard.

He wonders how is he not dead yet; Euron's dagger bit deep and painful, and it should have been lethal, he should have bled out if the stones had not crushed him. Maybe he did and this is death; if so it's a lot more boring than he had believed. But no, he's not dead yet, if he were he'd be in torment in the Seven Hells where he belongs for his many, many sins.

At some point, he must have dozed off because when he opens his eyes again the light is different and he feels his head pulsating with pain. His right side is radiating agony as well, and his mouth is dry as the Dornish sands. But he's still alive, and it's beginning to dawn on him that there is a chance he can keep being alive if the lances of sunlight coming from one of the collapsed arches are any indication. Does he want to? Does he want to keep living?

There isn't much point in it; Cersei's dead and if Brienne has an ounce of good sense she's well quit of him. He made sure of that. He's probably the most reviled man in the Seven Kingdoms, in case there was someone who didn't hate him yet he's gone and betrayed every single vow he ever made, and as soon as he shows his face anywhere the Queen can reach he'll be sentenced to death. He has no money, no reputation, no hand and not a single friend in the world. The easy thing would be to close his eyes and let death come for him as he tried in the Riverlands so many years ago.

And yet, he can't do that.

He doesn't know why but the Stranger has spared him. And as long as the Stranger doesn't take him, he'll keep limping on.

He takes a deep breath and steels himself, gritting his teeth against the pain as he slowly pushes himself to his feet. It takes him longer than he thought and by the end, he's panting like he just fought for his life. It feels like hours, and it probably is, when he's made it out of the room and up the stairs. It's the last place he wants to go, up to the throne room, but it's the only path clear of rubble. Around him, there's only silence and dust, the Red Keep, always so busy and lively is as dead as the people who used to live in it. There's probably not a soul around; if anyone survived the massacre of King's Landing they are nowhere close to where the Dragon Queen might be. He should be doing the same, getting as far from King's Landing as he can.

He hears voices once he's close to the throne room, and he can recognise one of them as Tyrion's. "There is nothing left, just ashes," his little brother is saying, his voice rough and pained. He sounds heartbroken. " _Why?_ "

"They didn't leave me any other choice," she says, the Queen, and Jaime clenches his teeth at the onslaught of memories. She even sounds like her father. "And neither have you. Where is the Kingslayer? Where is your brother?"

"Dead, like everyone else in the city," Tyrion says, and this time there's bitterness entwined with the pain in his voice.

"You'll join him soon in the hell reserved for traitors and Lannisters. Take him down to the Black cells if they're still standing, I'll see to his execution later. Leave me."

There's the sound of boots retreating and then nothing for a minute. Jaime looks around, plotting the best way to the Black cells that doesn't take him through the throne room. Maybe this is the reason he yet lives, to repay his brother's favour. He sees a sword on the ground next to where he is, and carefully bends down to pick it up. He's sure to find people on the way to the cells, he can at least give them a fight.

"I want to be alone, Grey Worm," Daenerys says and Jaime freezes. It can't be this easy, he can't believe the Queen most trusted guard will leave her on her own, but he needs to wait and listen because if he does, there won't be another chance like this one."

"Mysha, I don't think--"

 _Mother_ , he calls the woman who just murdered thousands of her people. _Mother._ Monster, more like it. _And Jaime knows all about monsters._

"I'll be alright, there is nobody in the keep. The scouts I sent said all passages have collapsed. The Usurper and the Kingslayer are somewhere down there, dead, and I want a moment alone in the room where my father was murdered."

"As you command, Mysha."

The sound of footsteps and then nothing for a while. Jaime strains his ears, trying to decipher whether she's moving or sitting in the throne, but can hear nothing but her steady breathing. He chances a quick look; the throne room is dark, barely a few candles burning and the light that passes through some gaps in the walls, and empty. He can see the Queen's hands on the arms of the Throne, the white of her dress blooming with the blood the sharp swords are drawing. He's not surprised by the fact that she's getting cut on the swords, of course she's not worthy of the chair after burning her city to the ground.

He moves toward the throne as silently as he knows, each step carefully measured, and then suddenly he's there, and he swings his sword at the same time he turns. Daenerys doesn't have time to scream as Jaime's sword pierce her, her eyes growing impossibly big and her mouth opening on a whimper. With a grunt of effort, Jaime leans closer and presses his golden hand against her neck, releasing the sword while she convulses to join it with his real one.

"You want to know why I killed your father?" He whispers while she struggles weakly. "He was about to burn the city and everyone in it."

He uses the last of his strength to push harder against her neck seeing how light leaves her eyes, and then slumps forward, his feet scrambling to keep his balance.

The whole thing has taken just a couple of minutes, and though his breathing sounds very loud in his ears, he knows nobody can have heard him. He closes his eyes and breathes against the pain of his injuries, still throbbing, and rests for just a moment. Then he unbuckles his golden hand and leaves it on the Queen's lap. It's as good as leaving a calling card, but he wants the realm to know it was him. _He wants Brienne to know he still had one good deed left in him._

He manages to avoid the guards on his way to the cells and uses the element of surprise to kill the only one stationed there, there isn't much need for guards when your only prisoner is a dwarf and most of the city is dead, after all.

"Is it time for my execution?" Tyrion says when the door opens, his back to it.

"Not quite," Jaime replies, a smile trying to lift the corners of his mouth. Tyrion whips around, shock and elation plain on his face. Jaime tries to take a step inside and realizes this is a far as he goes, his head swimming and his knees crumpling. It's not so bad, he tells himself as Tyrion rushes forward and catches him as he goes down, if he dies here. It's not bad at all. "But it was time for your Queen's, I'm afraid."

…

He wakes up again, and somehow the Stranger still hasn't come for him.

He doesn't know why. Was there a reason for him to claw his way out of that tomb apart from ending the Targaryen Mad Queen?

"Jaime," his brother says, and he moves his head to the side to see him sitting on a chair by his bed. He's not wearing the Hand of the Queen's pin, and his front looks strangely naked without it.

"Tyrion," he rasps, and his brother moves to get a cup of water to his lips. He drinks greedily, his parched throat soothed almost immediately. "Where?"

He noticed the slight rocking motion then; a boat. It makes as much sense as anything else, so he doesn't question it.

"You're on a smuggler ship," Tyrion begins, and he can see the hand of Ser Davos in it." You've been unconscious for three days, though everyone knows now you've killed the Mad Queen. Not very subtle leaving your golden hand."

"I wanted them to know it was me."

"Oh, they do, just don't expect them to love you for it. You were too late to save most of them."

Jaime chuckles, his right side lighting up in pain at the motion. "I don't." It's the truth, he didn't do it for their love or respect. Not for _theirs_."They didn't when I killed Aerys before he burned down the city, they will not love me for killing his daughter after she did."

"The Unsullied are looking for you for revenge, looking for the both of us actually, and we've been very lucky Ser Davos's friend was sailing through these parts." Tyrion takes a breath, to continue, his expression sombre."The North also wants you, though they have not specified the reason or whether they want your head attached to your body when presented to them."

"Lady Sansa?" he asks because it's the closest he dares to ask about Brienne.

" _Queen Sansa_ ," Tyrion says, his voice proud. Jaime almost laughs at that, though he can see it clearly. Cersei and Littlefinger really taught the girl well, he hopes she also has her father's moral compass. "She's travelling south as we speak, and we're in contact by raven. I have told her I suspect you freed me from the Black cells, but I didn't see who opened my door. I have also said there was a trail of blood, and you were more than likely injured during the collapse and the fight with Daenerys. I have taken the liberty of taking your clothes, we're procuring a corpse to dress like you, there is a surplus of dead bodies in the city, we'll find one with enough resemblance and I don't think he'll mind if we shorten him by one hand. By the time they arrive, it will be impossible to tell any corpse apart from another."

He can feel the bile rising to his throat. It's a brilliant plan if they manage to pull it off, but there is just one thing. "Don't let Brienne see it."

His brother looks at him intently, eyes narrowing. "I had wondered if you had forgotten about her. It certainly appeared so when you came all the way south for our sweet sister."

Jaime closes his eyes, tired. He has tried not to think about it, and his reasons are not for his brother. But they're either going to convince everyone he's dead, or they fail and then he really dies. Either way, he's never going to have the chance to explain it to her.

"I haven't forgotten Brienne, _I can't,_ " he confesses, his voice barely more than a whisper, and Tyrion leans forward to listen. "I want you to tell her that I was sorry I left the way I did and I was sorry I said the things I said. Olenna Tyrell was right, Cersei was a sickness and it had gone way past my ability to control it. I tried, _I tried so hard._ " It had torn him inside, being with Brienne, loving her and being loved by her, when there was a part of his heart and his soul which belonged to Cersei. Brienne had deserved better than a hateful man with only half a heart to give, and he had kept hearing Cersei's voice in his head, reminding him nobody could love him like she did, nobody could understand him like she did because they were parts of a whole. It was the same things she used to tell him when they were young, the same reminders that they belonged together. Who else would love him after everything he had done and everything he had become? "Please tell her the weeks in Winterfell with her were the happiest I remember since I was a child, since before I joined the Kingsguard. But _she_ was always there, in the back of my mind, like the itch at the end of my stump which never goes away because there is no hand to scratch until I couldn't ignore it anymore. Tell her that whatever else she believes about me, believe that I loved her because I did, I do, even though I never deserve her. And that I'm sorry."

Tyrion's expression is sorrowful when he finishes. "You should have stayed in Winterfell."

"I know. _I tried_."

They stay in silence for a while, until Jaime feels his eyes closing again. "What's going to happen now?"

"Now, you're going to recuperate in this ship while it travels to Pentos and I'm going back to King's Landing to wait for the Starks and avoid the remaining Unsullied. There's a bag of gold with the clothes I left for you, all I could get in such a short time but hopefully enough for now." His brother, always thinking of everything. "We'll find your body tomorrow or the day after, and hopefully, that will be the end of Jaime Lannister, the King and Queenslayer."

He snorts. "Just what I needed, another title."

Tyrion stands from his chair and puts his hand on Jaime's shoulder, squeezing a bit. "I hope I'll see you again someday, brother."

"You too, little brother. We've said goodbye too many times already." He puts his hand on top of Tyrion's and squeezes it. "I love you."

"I love you too, Jaime."

Jaime closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see his brother leave and lets the gentle rocking of the waves lull him to sleep.

...


	2. Brienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The raven comes a moon after his departure, and Brienne wonders when she will stop measuring the time by Jaime's presence or absence in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, not much advancing of the story here, but I needed to show Brienne's thoughts in here.

...

The raven comes a moon after his departure, and Brienne wonders when she will stop measuring the time by Jaime's presence or absence in her life. 

She lived before Catelyn Stark had charged her with escorting the Kingslayer to King's Landing so many years ago, before she had known the good man hiding behind the monster. She had armour and sword before he gave her Oathkeeper, was a Knight in all but title before he bestowed it on her. She was a woman before he taught her the pleasure of her flesh and the tenderness of her heart. Her life is not to be measured by his, and yet she can't help but think of time in those terms; when Jaime was there, and after he left. 

By the play of emotions in Lady Sansa's face, whatever words are on the scroll are the darkest she's read to date. 

" _Oh Gods_ ," Sansa whispers, closing her eyes momentarily, overwhelmed. 

"Mylady?" she asks, worried.

Sansa lifts a hand to signal for her to wait a moment and turns to the maester and Lord Royce. "We leave for the Capital in the morning, please have your men ready. We'll need several carts of food, as much as we can take from our reserves, maesters and all the people that can be spared from Winterfell. Ser Brienne and I will travel to White Harbour and board a ship there, please send a raven to have it ready when we arrive. Please have the Lords assembled in the Great Hall in an hour." She turns to Brienne then, her eyes softening in something that looks almost like pity, and she knows that whatever else was on the scroll, Jaime's dead. She shouldn't care after what he did, and yet dreads to hear it confirmed from Lady Sansa's lips. "Walk with me."

They walk the battlements in silence for a minute, overseeing the rebuild of the castle, it's slow going after all the damage the dead did, but the people are happy enough to do it. 

"The raven was from Tyrion. King's Landing has been completely destroyed, with everyone inside." Sansa begins, her tone measured though Brienne can read the horror in it. She feels horror rising in her as well, how is that possible? "Ser Jaime convinced his sister to surrender the city but Daenerys destroyed it anyway. She burned it to the ground, uncaring of the smallfolk hiding within its walls."

She feels her gut clenching at that. Gods no, anything but that. It's unbearable to think of the senseless waste of life and wanton destruction of such an act. "The Queen?"

"Both dead; Cersei was found under the red keep, crushed trying to escape the city." There is no pity in Sansa's voice, nothing but ice. Brienne remembers her saying _I was looking forward to watching your sister's execution_ and seeing Jaime's expression smoothing into blankness, going away inside _._ She can't blame Lady Sansa for wanting Cersei dead, not after all she suffered, and yet Brienne can't help to think that was the moment she lost Jaime.

"And Daenerys?" Brienne asks because she knows there's more to it.

"Ser Jaime killed her, turns out she was right to fear the Kingslayer." She turns to Brienne then, her expression softening. "Tyrion had been imprisoned and he thinks it was his brother who freed him, though he didn't see him. He's been searching for him but the Unsullied are also looking for Ser Jaime to get their revenge."

"How did they know it was Jaime who killed their Queen?

"He left his gold hand with her." Brienne feels like laughing and crying at the same time. Of course he did. He was never ashamed of having killed Aerys, he would be proud of this one as well, even if he didn't get to save the city this time. "We have to go to King's Landing as soon as possible; my brother doesn't want the throne, is just holding it until we arrive to prevent someone else taking it."

"Who's going to be King, then?" Brienne finally asks, because if Jon, the only person with a real claim doesn't want it, it can be anyone.

" _I am_ ," Sansa says, and she sounds stunned by this. "I'm going to be Queen."

…

Brienne barely sleeps that night, her mind filled with images of King's Landing burning and the Red Keep crumbling into dust. It's unbelievable to think that city is gone, the thousands of people living in it are gone. She can't believe the spark of madness in Daenerys's eyes bloomed into that massacre, and that Jaime had killed another Targaryen. 

Jaime. Her mind always goes back to him. 

She turns on the bed; the pillow stopped carrying his scent weeks ago and the warmth on his side of the bed has been gone for far longer, and yet she can still see him there, staring at her with a smile on his face before he leaned to kiss her. She can remember every night they spent together, how he would touch her so reverently and kiss her so sweetly one moment, and the next he would practically devour her, ripping impatiently at her clothes, eager to be inside of her.

Under his hands and mouth, she had felt wanted and beautiful. She had been unbearably happy, and then he'd taken all that happiness away and turned it into heartbreak and pain. 

The worst part is that she would have let him go easily had he only said he didn't love her or want her anymore; she knows what she is and what she's not, it wouldn't have surprised her if he didn't want her and preferred to look for more beautiful and feminine companions. Instead, he had chosen to go somewhere far away to die, and that fact hurt far worse than not being wanted. 

She closes her eyes and wonders whether he's still alive somewhere; with the Unsullied trying to kill him, chances are he's dead. Sansa's sent word to Jon to capture him as well, though she has not confided in Brienne what she intends to do with him if they do. It's better this way; Sansa's her Lady, her Queen now, but she has no love for the Lannisters and she knows Brienne loves him still, it's good of her to spare Brienne more heartache.

She finally gets some rest in the darkest hour before dawn and wakes up again at first light with wet cheeks and a feeling of loss, Jaime's face as he was Knighting her, proud and loving, branded in her mind.

... 

The destruction of the city is on a scale Brienne hadn't imagined even during her worst moments. It's been almost a fortnight since they left Winterfell for White Harbor, and most of the city is still smouldering rubble, barely any house still standing, and the ones that are empty in the middle of the chaos and death, the survivors refusing to enter the city. There are tents erected everywhere around the ruins, filled with both soldiers and smallfolk, all of them hollow-eyed and gaunt, moving around like ghosts in a haunted city. 

Brienne has never been in a place with so many people and yet so quiet, nobody speaking louder than a hoarse whisper as if afraid of stirring the dead surrounding them. There's also a smell in the air that makes Brienne gag, her stomach churning violently: thousands of dead people in the city, most of them charred, decomposing at the same time.

She turns her head when nausea rises and sees Sansa pressing a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide and liquid, tears pooling in them. 

"Oh Gods," she says, a mirror of the time she got the raven with the news. 

There have been more ravens, one of them was waiting at White Harbor and confirmed what she had already suspected: Tyrion had found his brother's body, Jaime had succumbed to his wounds inside the Red Keep. Brienne had cried for him again that night, unable to contain her tears at the loss of him, and had promised herself she was done with it. 

The tears springing to her eyes now have nothing to do with her own grief and everything with the horror surrounding them, not even the aftermath of the battle against the Night King had been so shocking and devastating. 

It doesn't take them long to find the command tent, and they find Jon and Davos in there arguing with Tyrion. 

"We don't have enough to feed the survivors with soldier's rations, few of them as they are, and whatever the Queen is bringing from Winterfell won't get here on time." Tyrion is saying, his back to the tent's entrance. "Daenerys burned the granaries along with everything else, and my sweet sister depleted Casterly Rock so we don't even have gold to buy more. We need to send for help to all the Lords of the realm, declared and undeclared." Jon and Davos see them enter and they stand up from their chairs, and Tyrion turns to look at them, his face relaxing into something resembling a smile. "Your Grace," he greets them, relief clear in his tone. "We weren't expecting you so soon."

Sansa goes straight to Jon and clasps him in a tight hug that reminds Brienne of the time they reunited in Castle Black before all this nightmare occurred.

"We had good winds from White Harbour, and I wanted to get here as fast as possible," Sansa says, separating from her cousin and surveying them all, their weary faces and empty eyes. They have seen more tragedy than any person should, first in Winterfell and now here. "The provisions are coming down the Kingsroad but they won't be here for another fortnight, I'm afraid."

"If I may," Brienne says in the ensuing silence, all eyes turning to her. "I might be able to help if I send a raven to my father in Tarth. If I know him, our granaries are full and he can get a ship to King's Landing in a day. It won't be much, but enough to survive while we receive assistance from other houses.

Sansa smiles at her. "Thank you, Ser Brienne, please send a raven to your father at once."

"I'll show you where the maester and the ravens are," Tyrion offers, and she nods at him. She had planned to look for him once they arrived, this way she won't have to.

They walk in silence to the maester's tent, all the questions Brienne wants to ask reduced only to one request. "I want to see him," she says after the raven is sent. "Has the body been burned or interred yet?"

Tyrion sighs, slowing his pace back to the command tent. "No, Queen Sansa requested that we keep him in case you wanted to see him, for closure. But my lady--"

"Ser," she corrects him. "Whatever else he did, he Knighted me. You were there."

"I was, and it was one of his finest acts," Tyrion acknowledges. "But please reconsider it, it's not a pretty sight. My brother wouldn't have wanted you to see it."

She resists the urge to laugh, it's a sound that doesn't belong to this graveyard of a city, bitter and mirthless as it would be. "Your brother wouldn't care, not for me."

Tyrion stops abruptly, looking up at her. "He did care, Ser Brienne, he loved you."

" _Did he_? How would you know?" Her words are sharp, cutting, and she wonders how they've made it past her lips without making her mouth bleed. 

"Because told me. He was captured on his way to King's Landing, I was the one who freed him and we spoke. He asked me to tell you he was sorry for the way he left you and the things he said to you, that whatever else you chose to believe about him, he loved you."

"Loved _me_?" She wishes she could have closed her ears to Tyrion's words. "He left me so he could die with his sister, that's not love."

"When I was a child in the Rock," Tyrion says, his eyes distant, lost in his memories. "I never understood my brother. I loved him, you see, he was the only person in that horrible place who didn't treat me as a monster and I knew he loved me, and yet he never stopped my sister's and father's abuse, though he would defend me from everyone else with fists and sword." They are alone, standing between two tents in the middle of the camp, and yet it feels like they are completely alone. Brienne wants to keep walking and leave Tyrion behind with his memories and his excuses for a dead man, but she can't. She needs to know and understand. "I saw them together many years later, and I finally understood everything. Cersei had been pouring poison in his ears since they were children, before I was born, about them being meant to be together, being parts of a whole. How nobody could understand him, could love him, the way she could. One of the court ladies flirted with my brother that day, and he kept rebuffing her as he usually did, even if he hadn't been in the Kingsguard, he only ever had eyes for our sweet sister. Cersei was jealous, though, I remember thinking she was being too obvious when she followed him and cornered him, so I went after them to make sure they weren't caught because I might have despised my sister but I loved my brother and didn't want his head on a spike. I heard her then, she said _'They call you a monster but they want to fuck you; don't forget you're mine, who else will love a monster?'_ I've always wondered if that was the love she gave him, how he never left her. Jaime called her a sickness, when we spoke last, one he was unable to control. But he tried."

She closes her eyes, feeling the bile rise again and hearing his words when he left. She's hateful, and so am I. 

"So you see, Ser Brienne, I knew my brother and he did love you. He told me he had never been as happy as he was in Winterfell with you, but he kept hearing her voice in his mind, until he couldn't ignore it anymore, and I know what that voice was saying." He gave her a wistful hint of a smile. "I wish he had met you sooner, you almost got her claws out of him."

Tyrion turns around and leaves her standing there, his words still resonating in her ears, until she snaps herself out of it and starts walking again to the command tent. 

…

She lasts until that night, thinking about what Tyrion confided her. 

Brienne knew Jaime's relationship with his sister had been complicated and bad for him, she hadn't realized just how damaging it was, or how much she had preyed on his self-hatred. It doesn't justify what he did, but at least now Brienne understands it was never her who was lacking. Jaime didn't leave her because of what she was or wasn't, it was never that. In his eyes the one lacking was himself. 

He'd even made his parting words about his worthlessness, not hers.

It doesn't make it hurt less, because he's still dead, but it makes it easier to let go of her anger, to forgive him. 

She asks for directions to the tent where the body is kept and once there spends a few minutes by the entrance, steeling herself. The first thing she notices is the smell; the body is decomposing and should have already been burned or buried, even with the smell of so many other corpses in the city, inside the tent the stench is overpowering, it fills her nostrils and makes her retch. Then she notices the clothes, the same ones he was wearing when he left Winterfell, though torn, stained and covered in blood and dust. There isn't much point looking into his face, it's been too long and the wounds and blood cover most of it making it hard to recognise his features, so she looks at his arms instead and then she stops, narrowing her eyes. 

She turns around and leaves the tent, filling her lungs once she's outside to try and clear the smell of death from her nostrils. Tyrion is staring at her from another tent close by, his forehead creased in a frown. She nods once, sharply, to let him know she's seen it and she knows, then heads back to her tent and goes back to sleep. 

The body is similar enough to fool anyone else, but she has touched and kissed and cleaned that stump plenty of times to know every single scar and groove in it. 

The body in the tent is not Jaime Lannister. 

For the first time since that night in the courtyard, she sleeps peacefully.

...


	3. Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of all the cities they have visited around Essos and Westeros in the past two years, Jaime has to admit Pentos's his favourite.

Of all the cities they have visited around Essos and Westeros in the past two years, Jaime has to admit Pentos's his favourite. It's a colourful city where wealth speaks louder than anything else, something a spoiled Lion with a bag of gold to his name knows to appreciate, and with such a trade by the sea that ships coming and going are the least remarkable of events. Pentos is also the closest city to Westeros, and here he can relax out of the ship without fear of being recognized, and still hear news about his home. 

In the time since he was smuggled out of King's Landing by Salladhor Saan many things have changed back home, and he's learned about most of them by listening to the rumours shared by bored sailors and sellswords in the taverns. He knows the North is held by the Starks again, Lord Brand the Warden of the North, the Stormlands were given to Robert's bastard, who is surprisingly a fair enough Lord for someone so young and inexperienced, and Highgarden belongs to Bronn, the Seven save them all. It's a good thing the war ended when it did or Bronn would have negotiated his way to the throne, cunning cutthroat that he is. The Wall has not been repaired, no need for it since the Night King was defeated, and the freefolk are now free to come and go as they please in the North. Jon Snow was said to have travelled North of the Wall never to be seen again; he's probably having fun with his direwolf and that Tormund Giantsbane, doing whatever it is wildlings do when not fighting White Walkers, well quit of the mess the realm had become. 

It has fallen to another Stark to set the realm to rights, and she's very good at it, for what Jaime has heard. Queen Sansa Stark, the first of her name, is said to be shrewd but fair, and to listen to her small council. She has surrounded herself with people she trusts; the Commander of her Queensguard is her sister Arya, an appointment nobody was going to argue after the little wolf had slain the Night King, her Hand the first Lady Knight in Westeros, Ser Brienne of Tarth. It hurt to hear her name again, to remember her arms around him and her lips upon his, and her tears when he left her. He had never felt prouder of her, though, his honourable and fierce Brienne. The most surprising appointment, though, had been that of Tyrion's. Jaime would have expected him to hold Casterly Rock and become the Warden of the West, which he had, he had not expected him to become King Consort but he could see the advantages of uniting Starks and Lannisters, more so now than in the past. He has a feeling this match wasn't as political as people might think, he can remember his brother's face lighting up the last time they spoke when he mentioned Queen Sansa.

He's happy for his brother, he truly is. At least one Lannister deserves happiness.

Not that he's a Lannister anymore. 

Jaime Lannister, the Queen and Kingslayer, died in King's Landing doing one last service to the realm. His crimes have been pardoned, and the truth of Aerys's death has finally come to the light, probably thanks to Brienne who's the only person Jaime ever told. Jaime knows how easy it's to pardon a dead man, especially one who did you the service of slaying the previous Mad Queen. It would be another story if he were to appear before the Queen now, he's sure of it. The man he's now is called Hooked Jay by his shipmates, who have no idea who he used to be nor do they care, in honour to the hook Salladhor Saan had made for his stump when Jaime decided to stay in his ship and learn to sail with the smuggler. It had been an impulsive decision; he had just been healed of his wounds and they were reaching Pentos at the time, and Jaime had felt the despair of the years stretching in front of him with nothing to do and nowhere to go. He couldn't even think of becoming a sellsword since he was lacking a sword hand, sailing with the smuggler had felt as good idea as any. 

He had regretted it many times in the following moons while he learned how to sail and his place in the ship's pecking order. He still had the arrogance of a Lion then, and his sweet sister's voice had not been completely drowned by her death. He had gone to sleep many a night with a bloodied nose after a brawl with a shipmate for some offence he'd given until he'd reined on his tongue, but learned he had in the end, to sail and to shed the Lannister pride and with it, he had finally been freed from Cersei and her poison.

Where Cersei used to whisper in his ear, _'nobody but me can love a monster'_ now Brienne's voice will say, _'I know there's honour in you, I've seen it'_ and he would try to be honourable. He's replaced his sister's hateful voice in his mind by Brienne's no-nonsense one, and he's much better for it, even if he misses her with every breath.

He's in one of the taverns, drinking ale with his shipmates and having a good time, when Salladhor Saan comes into the room looking for them. "Back to the ship everyone," he says, eliciting a loud groan from his crew in return. "We're sailing out today."

Jaime finishes his ale quickly, who knows when they are going to come back through these parts again, and then heads to the ship grumbling all the time. They have been barely two days in Pentos, not enough time for Salladhor to find them new cargo so something must have happened. He'll find out what once they are in the ship, same as everyone else, but he's annoyed he hasn't heard enough gossip from Westeros to know whether he's going to become an uncle anytime soon or if Ser Brienne has done anything worth gossip, like getting married.

He doesn't find where they're going until the ship has departed the harbour and by then it's too late for him to stay ashore. "We're sailing for Tarth," Salladhor says, and Jaime feels his entire body freezing on the spot, a rush of want and dread taking over him. He hasn't seen the green land and sapphire waters of Tarth since his trip to Dorne so many years ago but can still picture them in his mind as if it was yesterday. But Tarth is Brienne's home, though she won't be there, her place as Hand of the Queen demands she stays in the capital. Jaime knows he's going to be chased by her ghost the entire time they're there, though, not that he's not haunted by memories of her every day now.

"Are we smuggling something out? Some dangerous cargo to transport?" Corel, a greenhorn who has been with them just a few moons asks, his eyes shining with greed at what he hopes will be a great payment.

"No, Tarth is a strategic port, and us sailors need to make nice with whoever is in charge," Salladhor explains, though Jaime's not really listening to him. His next words bring him back to the present in a rush. "Selwyn Tarth has stepped down because of his health and his daughter has taken up the mantle. We're paying our respects to the new Evenstar."

"The Evenstar's a woman?" Corel asks, incredulous. 

"Not any woman," Jaime says in the silence that follows, and he can hear the longing in his voice. "Ser Brienne of Tarth, the Hand of the Queen."

…

Tarth's everything his memory made it be; the waters are the bluest he's ever seen and yet not as beautiful as her eyes, the mountains a covered in verdant trees and the people bustling around the port feel friendly enough. 

They disembark barely two days after departing Pentos, the crew eager enough to resume their well-earned leisure, but Jaime doesn't feel like going with them this time. Normally, in any city they make port, he goes with them the first couple of days and then spends the rest of the time on his own. This time Jaime leaves the ship as soon as he can, not even looking back when he hears his name. 

For all he has feared being in Tarth, he has realized during the trip that he has an opportunity he never thought he would have again. 

_He can see Brienne._

He doesn't fear recognition, not anymore unless he comes face to face with her. He has changed since his golden lion days; he's wearing sailor's garb, roughspun and salt-encrusted jerkin and breeches, and an iron hook at the end of his right arm. He's older and greyer, the lines on his face deeper on tanned skin, his features sharper. He doesn't look much like a Lannister, and if he did nobody would believe him to be a dead one. 

He walks around the port aimlessly, looking for the fastest way to Evenfall Hall, which rests a ways away from the harbour. He finds an inn with a big stable and manages to haggle with the owner for one of their horses, a bad-tempered palfrey which is not worth the golden dragon he pays for it. He doesn't care, he's on his way and that's all that matters. 

It takes him the best part of the morning to get to Evenfall, but then he's there, the castle rising against the cliffs. It's a beautiful castle, magnificent one would say with the backdrop of Tarth's waters behind it and the trees flanking it. Jaime unmounts his horse and approaches it as much as he dares, checking the activity around it; there are people coming in and out of it constantly, traders with carts and some walking in empty-handed; servants and maids rushing from one place to another and a few guards doing their rounds. Even when it looks buzzing with activity, the feel of the castle is merry, a party's being prepared to honour their liege Lady. 

"Good morrow and well met," Jaime says to a group approaching the door from the same direction he is. They look like mummers, with their bright garb and painted faces, a donkey pulling a cart behind them. He falls into step with them, the best chance he's going to have to get into Evenfall without looking suspicious."Are you headed to the castle?

"Aye, we're to perform for the Lady Evenstar at the party tomorrow, we're here to set our stage in the yard and rehearse our play," one of the men in the group says. He's a blond man with a leonine mane, not a day past his thirtieth name day if Jaime is any judge, and clad in crimson and gold clothes. Next to him a woman as tall and as blond as he is pulling at her tunic, complaining the bindings across her chest are too tight.

"And what play is that?" he asks, slightly suspicious.

"The Slaying of the Mad King and the Knighting of the Hand," the man says with a smile, and Jaime feels his stomach dropping. He's always known Brienne would end up in songs and legends, she has always been a hero. For his part, he always thought he would end in songs as a warning, not a play performed on a merry occasion like this one.

"And you're to play the Kingslayer and the Maid of Tarth?" he says, looking at them up and down. The man is tall and handsome enough, though his eyes are brown instead of Jaime's green but the woman is too thin and womanly, and far too pretty, to play Brienne. She's not good enough.

"I wouldn't use that name where Ser Brienne can hear you," a voice from the past says, and Jaime closes his eyes and hunches his shoulders. He was so intent in the mummers he's not checked their surroundings and they have already made it inside the castle. He wants to turn, because normally where Podrick Payne is, Brienne of Tarth is not far, but he can't. Pod will recognize him in a heartbeat. 

This has been a terrible idea, after all. 

"My apologies, " he mumbles roughtly, hoping Pod is not about to stop him and ask him to turn. 

He's in luck, as one of the maids comes barreling from inside the castle calling for Pod, and he signals to one of the guards. "Escort them to the yard," he orders before disappearing through one of the doors with the maid.

He knows he has to turn around and leave the castle then, he's taken too high a risk. What was he thinking, that he could just stroll into Brienne's home and have her not know it was him? That she will be happy to see him? It's been two years, and though not one day has passed without Jaime thinking of her, she probably doesn't think of him except to curse his name. That's what he made sure of when he left her in Winterfell.

He heads to the door to leave when she comes out of the same door Pod just went into, and Jaime can't breathe. The past two years have been good to her; she's still too tall and mannish, her hair a bit longer than he remembers and gently curling over her nape, but still short, she's wearing breeches and a blue tunic, her wide shoulders filling it. Her eyes are still the same astonishing blue, still as innocent and clear as before she was touched by the horrors of war and death and Lannisters. There are two swords hanging from her hip, and when Jaime realizes it's Oathkeeper and Widow's Wail his eyes fill with tears he has no right to shed. Why is she carrying his sword? Why would she want to? 

She's still the most beautiful thing he has ever seen; Jaime wants to go to her and hold her tight, wants to kiss her lips and her neck and lose himself in her body the way he used to do in Winterfell, he wants to look into her eyes and disappear there, wants to hear her voice low and soft as it was in the mornings, hear her moans and sighs when he pleasured her, wants to see her smile wide and happy as she did before he broke her heart. 

He wants to fall to his knees in front of her and beg for forgiveness, for another chance to be with her, to prove he can become the good man she believed him to be once. 

But he can't, _he's dead_. As far as she's concerned, Jaime Lannister's dead. 

It's better this way.

He sees her talking to one of the guards, and they point at the mummers in the yard. This is the moment to leave, Jaime knows, and as soon as her back is turned he forces himself to move and leave Evenfall Hall. 

He goes back to the harbour, not looking back even once, and finds an inn to get blinding drunk in.

…

Jaime goes back to the ship after two days of feeling sorry for himself and drinking like a proud Lannister. It didn't make him feel any better, not really, but at least he can say he's seen Brienne one more time. 

And she looks beautiful.

He knows he's going to be dreaming of her for a long time. 

The ship is empty when he gets there, and he goes straight to his cot to sleep the hangover after two days of heavy drinking. They are not supposed to depart for another two days, so he's not expecting any of his crewmates to come back so early, but he can't be in the inn anymore, can't be around people talking about the Evenstar and how wonderful she is anymore. She's wonderful, he knows that better than most. She's also beyond his reach, and that is nobody's fault but his own. 

He falls asleep the moment his head touches the pillow, and of course, he dreams of her. In his dream, they are together, not under the furs in Winterfell but here, in Tarth, under the stars and with the sea lapping at their feet, a beautiful blonde child running in front of them. Jaime knows he's dreaming, but he wants this so much he aches with it.

He wakes when he hears voices in the ship; he wasn't expecting anyone to come back yet, so he's wide awake in a second, the voices approaching the cabin.

"I was very surprised to receive your invitation," Salladhor is saying, and Jaime relaxes at hearing his voice. He didn't know what he expected, he's jumping at shadows "but I have always loved Tarth, and any friend of Ser Davos is a friend of mine."

"I had wanted to contact you sooner, but it's been a very busy time for me." Jaime tenses again, it can't be. Brienne can't be on his ship. "It's not until I resigned as Hand of the Queen to take over as Evenstar that I had time to chase Ser Davos and get the information I needed from him." The voices are right outside his door, and he knows there is no escape. If the door opens, Brienne is going to see him, and she's going to know it's him. 

Part of him wants that more than anything else. Part of him is terrified of it.

"My friend Davos, and what did he tell you that I garnered an invitation to your Island?"

The door of the cabin opens, and she is there, staring straight a Jaime. "He said you had something of mine, something I lost in King's Landing two years ago. _I want it back_."

...


	4. Brienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being back in Tarth feels like a breath of fresh air after so much time and work in the capital, the straightforwardness of its people a relief after being in court for so long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be an Epilogue, probably fluffy to compensate for whatever happens on the finale tonight. Hopefully, they don't make me lose all the drive to keep writing after this. Good luck :)

Being back in Tarth feels like a breath of fresh air after so much time and work in the capital, the straightforwardness of its people a relief after being in court for so long.

Politics were never Brienne's strong point, the only reason she accepted the position of Hand of the Queen when Sansa offered it was that she had sworn herself to Sansa, and that meant serving in whatever capacity her Queen required. Brienne had hated every minute of it. She's not good with words or people; give her a sword and she will defeat any foe, but the backstabbing of the court and manoeuvring of the Lords of the realm is something she despises and is dismally bad at. 

"If I wanted manoeuvring and manipulation, I would have given the pin to Tyrion," Sansa had told her when Brienne protested the appointment, the crown barely set over her head. "I know how to play the court, for my Hand I want someone I trust to give me their honest opinions, and there is no person more honest than Ser Brienne of Tarth in the Seven Kingdoms."

So she had become the Hand of the Queen and had helped rebuild the Seven Kingdoms after Daenerys Targaryen had rained fire and blood upon them. King's Landing and the Red Keep had been razed to the ground, so the first decision had been where to move the court while they rebuilt. Rosby had been left intact by the wars, though Lord Rosby and his daughter had been attending court and died in King's Landing. From there, they had worked tirelessly for eighteen moons to get the kingdom back on its feet, feed their people and rebuild the towns and fields destroyed by war. Queen Sansa had surrounded herself by good people, starting with her husband and sister, and appointed a council based on skill instead of influence. She had honoured Tyrion's promise to give Highgarden to Bronn, and yet she had given Wardenship of the South and a place in her council to Samwell Tarly making the Tarlys the liege Lords and curtailing Bronn's power without going back on her husband's word. 

Brienne still remembers how long and loud Tyrion had laughed at that, his eyes shining with pride and love. She had felt jealous of her Queen for a brief instant, Sansa's smile at her husband making her wish for her own Lannister to be by her side. 

_But he wasn't_. 

To the eyes of the world, he's dead. 

She knows better, though. 

Her first impulse when she learned Jaime was alive was to chase after him, find him and get him back where he belonged, by her side. But that would have been a stupid thing to do. He was still the Kingslayer in the eyes of the realm, his crime compounded by killing the Dragon Queen, and in spite of her willingness to forgive him after learning the truth of his relationship with his sister, she was still furious with him for leaving her with nothing but his terrible words. 

She was as likely to kill him as kiss him then.

So she had played along with Tyrion's scheme and not revealed she knew the corpse was not Jaime Lannister. She had plenty to do, anyway, and couldn't be chasing after an idiot who had willingly gone to his death leaving her behind. 

But she had spoken about him freely and frequently, completely unashamed of having loved him; Brienne told the court the stories of their travels through the Riverlands, of his rescue of her from the bear and from the rapists, of his maiming, of their fight against the dead. She had told the tale of her Knighting, Tyrion's knowing eyes resting on her the entire time. She had finally told the story he had never revealed to anyone else, the tale of the act that granted Jaime his hated moniker, and which she knew he would never have shared publicly. 

But he was not there to stop her. He was dead, after all.

"I know what you're doing, Ser Brienne," Tyrion had told her that night in court, once the shocked whispers had faded.

"Do you?"

"You're making him a hero."

"He _is_ a hero," she had said, emphasizing the present tense in the sentence. Tyrion's brows had shot up when he noticed. "An idiot, to be sure, but a hero. Did you really think I wouldn't recognize him?"

Tyrion had chuckled then. "Oh no, I knew you would. You see, Jaime asked me not to let you see the body to spare you pain, but I knew you'd see past our ruse the moment you saw the body and didn't know whether you'd be too angry to expose us to the Queen."

"With the Unsullied still trying to kill him? Of course I wasn't going to say anything."

"And now you're reforming him in the eyes of the realm, does this mean you have forgiven him?" Tyrion had asked, a thread of hope in his voice. He missed his brother, she had known, almost as much as she missed him. It was unbelievable how much she could miss a person she had only spent a few weeks with, compared to the rest of her life without. But she did. She does. 

"Not yet, I still want to knock him around for everything he said and did."

"Well, Ser Brienne, when you decide you have forgiven him, ask Ser Davos about his friend Salladhor Saan, he can help you find your idiot."

That's what she did, once she had not been needed anymore by the Queen and with her father's request that she went back home and became the Evenstar, Brienne had spoken to Ser Davos, who was to replace her as Hand, and learned how to contact Salladhor Saan. 

And now he's here, and Brienne is closer to finding Jaime than she's been in years. 

"I just saw him in the castle, Ser," Pod says, coming inside from the courtyard door.

"Salladhor Saan?" She asks, surprised. She's invited him to her island, but it's too bold of him to just walk into her home.

" _Ser Jaime_ ," he says, voice thick with disapproval. Pod has always been loyal to Brienne, and he had stood with her through her tears and her anger and heartbreak. Jaime's going to have a harder time to win Pod's forgiveness than her own 

She feels her gut clenching, her mouth drying. _She's not ready_ ; she's invited Salladhor Saan to her island in the hope he could tell her where he'd taken Jaime after King's Landing, and then she would use her resources and Tyrion's to track him down. The fact that apparently he has stayed with the smuggler all this time and is now on her island, in her castle, close enough that she can see him again, had not occurred to her.

"Are you sure, Pod?" She asks, hating the hope in her voice.

"I heard his voice, he was talking to the mummers who just entered the castle. He asked the mummer who was playing the _Kingslayer_."

Yes, that's definitely him. Nobody else in the Kingdom would utter that name where there's a chance of her hearing it. Not anymore.

She rushes out but doesn't see Jaime. The mummers are setting up the stage in the yard for the morrow's performance, the main actors already dressed for their parts, the Lion and the Maid. At least this time the Maid is as tall as the Lion, though much prettier than Brienne herself. She turns and asks the guards, but too many people have come in and out of the castle and she knows that he must have already left. She turns back inside and goes back to her duties, she has too many things to do and a ceremony to prepare for.

She dreams of him that night, the two of them together in Tarth, walking around her favourite cove, a small girl running in front of them and splashing around the water. She wakes up in the morning with a sharp feeling of longing and stays in bed for longer than usual just thinking of him. 

She has forgiven him, she did a long time ago after coming to terms with the idea of never seeing him again. She knows Jaime intends to stay away from her, knows that even if she has forgiven him, he hasn't forgiven himself and doesn't believe he deserves it. 

It's not up to him to decide whether he deserves her forgiveness, though.

A smarter woman would move on and find someone else, or so she's been told. Brienne knows her worth now and has received marriage offers from some Lords; even despoiled as she is, marriage to the Hand of the Queen and future Evenstar is a good prospect for ambitious Knights and Lords who don't care she's not maiden anymore.

But she has been loved, and she won't accept anything else, not while there is a chance she can have it again. 

She won't accept a man settling for her so they can have power and titles when she has been looked at as if she was the most wonderful thing in the world. She won't accept a man doing his duty in the dark to sire heirs when she has been made to scream herself hoarse in pleasure, several times during one night as if he couldn't get enough of her. She won't accept a man who thinks he can order her around once they are married when Jaime put a priceless sword in her hand and asked if he could serve under her. 

She might have mistrusted her memories of their time together, tainted after their parting, were it not for Tyrion and Sansa, and surprisingly Bran, who had convinced her that her eyes didn't lie to her. 

_Jaime had loved her_. 

Any doubt she had he might love her still, he's put to rest by coming to her castle and risking recognition. 

He's still an idiot, after all.

…

She finds Salladhor Saan down in the harbour two days after the ceremony. 

They have been the longest days for her; Brienne performed her duties and tried to enjoy the celebration as much as possible, but her heart wasn't in it. She feasted and watched the mummers play out one of the most important nights of her life as if it was one legend of the age of heroes, not something that happened barely two years ago for her. She talked and laughed with her father and Pod and Ser Godwin, and with many of the people of the Island who had attended the party, and yet she could feel Jaime's presence in the island, now she knew he was there, like an itch under her skin.

The second day after the party she finally goes down to the port and asks around to find the smuggler. He's easy to find, has left instructions with the Port Masters of where he's staying and which one is his ship, probably curious as to why he's been invited to Tarth. Brienne sends Pod with a message to the inn where he's staying and goes straight to his ship. 

It's a smuggler ship, made for stealth and speed, wide and deep enough to have space for its cargo, and beautifully maintained. Salladhor Saan is a good man, Ser Davos had told her, and very protective of his crew and of his ship. 

"Lady Evenstar," Salladhor says when he gets to the ship, bowing to her politely. "I was told you were waiting for me here." 

"Salladhor Saan," she greets him with a smile. "Ser Davos has spoken fondly about you." He gestures for her to follow him aboard the ship, and she does, looking around curiously. There's nobody around except the two of them, Pod staying on the dock at her gesture. "Your crew?"

"They're somewhere in the town enjoying their free time, I shortened their leisure time in Pentos once I received your raven." He's walking her bellow deck purposefully, and she can't help but grip the pommel of her sword, suspicious. "I think only Hooked Jay is around, I heard he got back into the ship this morning after indulging too much for the past two days." _Hooked Jay_. Brienne feels her lips curling in a smile. Salladhor Saan is no fool and he has known who he had in the ship the entire time, and who she's looking for. "I was very surprised to receive your invitation, but I have always loved Tarth, and any friend of Ser Davos is a friend of mine."

"I had wanted to contact you sooner, but it's been a very busy time for me. It's not until I resigned as Hand of the Queen to take over as Evenstar that I had time to chase Ser Davos and get the information I needed from him," she admits sincerely. 

"My friend Davos, and what did he tell you that I garnered an invitation to your Island?" They have stopped in front of a door, and she knows Jaime is on the other side. Salladhor is looking at her with amusement plainly written in his face, and she nods for him to open it, eagerness and trepidation making her feel lightheaded.

And then the door is open and Jaime is there, sleep rumpled and soft on one of the cots, and staring at her with wide and terrified eyes. He's aged in the past two years, his hair is lighter, silver and pale gold mingling in it, and longer than she remembers it being, curling softly over his neck. His beard is mostly silver now, neatly trimmed, and his face is tanned and lined, laugh lines bracketing his mouth and on the corners of his eyes, which are so, so green. 

He's still the most beautiful man she has ever seen. 

"He said you had something of mine, something I lost in King's Landing two years ago. _I want it back,"_ she says, her eyes never leaving Jaime. 

"Brienne," he says, a choked whisper, and absently Brienne registers that the door has closed behind her and they are alone in the cabin, but she can't do anything but stare at him. She's not even sure what she's feeling, because it's been two years since he left her in Winterfell and they are not the same people. 

And yet, he's looking at her with that same expression again, as if she is the most beautiful woman in the world. 

She takes a step in his direction and Jaime straightens up on the bed, and before she knows Brienne is there, close enough to touch, her hands moving on her own to cover his cheeks in an unconscious mirror of that night in Winterfell. "I could kill you right now, Jaime Lannister," she whispers and presses her forehead against his, her entire world reduced to the green of his eyes and their breaths mingling. 

They don't touch except for her hands on his face and their foreheads together, and they don't kiss, as much as she has wanted to kiss him for the past two years. They just stare at each other and share their breaths, and if there are tears running down his face and apologies mingled with his breath, nobody says anything.

...

"I've known for most of the time." They're sitting on his cot, close but no longer touching. She's the one who separated them, the one who pushed Jaime away so they can talk. There can be no talking while they are touching, both of them starving for each other's touch, and there can be no touching until they have talked, they have too much to clear between them. "Since we arrived in King's Landing and I saw the body your brother tried to make us believe was yours."

"I didn't want you to see it," Jaime admits, looking at his hands. He hasn't lifted his eyes from them since the moment Brienne removed her hands from his face, has put as much distance as he can between them on the small cot.

"You knew I would know."

"No, I just didn't want to hurt you anymore."

"Didn't want to hurt me anymore?" she asks, incredulous, glaring at him. " _I mourned you_. Do you have any idea how it feels to mourn the person who just broke your heart?" He flinches as if struck, and she wants to take his hand and hold him, but she can't comfort him. Not for this. He needs to know what he did, even if she has forgiven him already for it, he needs to know. "You hurt me when you left, I had never cried in front of a man since I was a girl but I cried in front of you. _And you did not care_. And then we got news of your death, and I cried for you again."

"I cared for you. _I did_ ," he protests.

"Didn't stop you leaving me behind to die with Cersei."

"I'm sorry," he says, miserable, "I tried to stay, I tried to free myself from her, but I couldn't."

"I _know_ ," she relents, and Jaime looks up at that. "Your brother had many things to tell me."

They look at each other in silence, and Jaime makes an abortive move with his hand as if to hold her, but lets it fall down again empty. 

"I need to know one thing," Brienne finally says.

"Anything."

"Do you still hear her voice in your head?" she asks, because she might have forgiven him and might still love him, but she won't share him with a ghost.

"No," he says, and he flushes. "Not her voice. Now I hear yours when I'm about to do something stupid."

She wants to kiss him just for that but doesn't.

"You were in the castle yesterday," she says instead once the silence stretches between them uncomfortably, and his flush deepens. "Was my voice silent that it didn't warn you how stupid that was?"

"I needed to see you. I know you won't believe me and you are right not to, but I loved you. _I love you_. Leaving was one of the hardest things I've ever done. But it wasn't fair to you when part of me still belonged to my sister."

"It wasn't fair to me to lose you believing I wasn't enough for you." She's not trying to hurt him, but there's still anger in her, and if they hope to have a future she needs to get rid of it. "You left, and I knew it was because I wasn't beautiful and feminine like other women, I knew it was because nobody could love me, big beast of a woman that I was. You left, and I couldn't stop you."

"You are beautiful, to me you are the most beautiful."

She continues over his protests. "And then you died, and if things had gone the way you intended, you would really be dead."

"Why am I not? Why keep my secret once you knew?" 

"Because I loved you. _I love you_ ," His eyes snap up to her at that, wide and full of terrible hope. "I wasn't going to let the Unsullied or anyone else kill you, not after your brother had opened my eyes to who it was that you really didn't love."

"My brother has always been too smart for his own good," he says with a small wistful smile. "What now? Now that you know, what happens next? Did you just want closure?"

As if she hasn't just told him she still loves him. "No, I want you. I'm still angry with you, Jaime Lannister, but I want you in my life if that's something you want."

He takes a shuddering breath. " _I want_ ," he begins, leaning towards her as if needing the proximity. "I want that more than anything. You have no idea how much I've missed you these past years, how much I hated myself for hurting you and leaving you. But I can't," Brienne feels her heart stopping in her chest. He's just said he loves her, he can't reject her now. "I can't be Jaime Lannister anymore. That man died under the Red Keep, and a good thing he did, he wasn't a good man."

She exhales in relief. "He tried to be, though he never had it easy." This is the moment she leaves herself exposed again, it takes more courage than she had believed possible to just say some words. "You don't have to be that man if you don't want to. Be Hooked Jay," she says with a pointed look at the hook in his right hand. "Be No One, or be Lord Tarth if you want."

"Lord Tarth?" he repeats in a shocked whisper. "You can't mean that."

"I do." And she does, she didn't know until this moment, but she does.

"I want that more than anything else." He smiles at her as he did back in Winterfell after he had Knighted her, and she can't help but return it, a weight she didn't know she had been carrying finally lifting. "Please tell me I can kiss you again now," he pleads, and before she has finished nodding he's kissing her, softly, gently, like she's precious and fragile, lips barely brushing hers and his hand tangling in her hair. 

She makes a soft sound of protest and presses harder against him, and then all the softness is gone, turning hungry and devouring, lips and tongues and teeth coming together. They kiss and kiss for what it feels like an eternity until she wants to crawl on top of him and take him into her body, wants to rip off their clothes so they can be skin against skin, wants to taste him everywhere and feel his hands and lips everywhere. 

With an effort, she pushes him away. They're both panting, wild eyes and with swollen lips. 

"We have to stop," she says with an effort. She stands from the cot to prevent the temptation to fall into him again. "We still have things to talk about, but first we need to get to Evenfall Hall and you need to be introduced to my father, especially if you are going to be Lord Tarth."

He stands up and follows her out of the cabin and into the port, not even looking back at the ship that has been his home for the past two years. 

"As my Lady Evenstar commands."

...


	5. Epilogue - Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Will you stop fidgeting?"  
> Jaime unhooks his finger from the ties of his cloak and smooths the front of his jerkin with a sheepish smile to Brienne. He can't help it, he's nervous and he has a good reason to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the epilogue, I was aiming for fluff, I ended up with smut. fluffy smut. because we had enough disappointment with TV Canon, so we deserve good things.  
> Thanks to everyone who commented and left kudos, the response has absolutely blown my mind.

"Will you stop fidgeting?"

Jaime unhooks his finger from the ties of his cloak and smooths the front of his jerkin with a sheepish smile to Brienne. He can't help it, he's nervous and he has a good reason to be.

"Why don't we just skip the ceremony and stay all week here, together?" he approaches her slowly, letting her look her fill and enjoying the heat in her eyes as she looks him up and down. Not to be arrogant, but he's cutting a fine figure in pink and blue, the suns and stars of Tarth emblazoned on his clothes and cloak looking much better on him than any crimson or white ever did. He's also filled out since he left the ship, long moons of sword training every morning with Brienne and sailing around the Island when they have time means he's feeling, and looking, like someone years younger. Not much can be done for the silver in his hair and beard, but it makes him feel dignified instead of old, or so he maintains. " _No clothes needed_."

He presses himself against her as much as he can, the curve of her belly meaning he has to go on tiptoes to even reach her chin with his lips. She laughs at him, bending slightly to press her lips to his briefly, and then pushes him away.

"Stop being an idiot and get ready, before the Queen decides to send her Commander to drag you to the Throne room."

Sansa would, he has no doubt about it. And the little slip of a wolf, not a girl anymore but a woman grown and a dangerous one at that, would definitely do it.

"Fine, but if they demand my head the moment they see me, you have to champion me," he jokes, fussing with his cloak again. Most of the court is in for a surprise when the Lady Evenstar and Lord Tarth make their first appearance since their marriage in their island, which couldn't be attended by the King and Queen but boasted a few selected members of the small council among the guest. For what they've heard, there was much speculation about who finally won the heart of the Lady Evenstar, who had never made a secret of having been the infamous Jaime Lannister's lover and refused to marry for anything but love. Everyone who knew them agreed to keep the secret just for the moment Lord Tarth was presented formally in court.

Most of the Seven Kingdoms still believe him dead, but that's about to change, and Jaime is sure no amount of songs and tales about him are going to make people see him as anything but the Kingslayer, regardless of what Brienne tells him.

"I can't fight in my condition, remember?" she counters with a laugh; Jaime has refused to spar with her in the past few weeks since she started showing, and Brienne, stubborn woman that she is, keeps complaining daily. They leave their chambers in the guest wing of the rebuilt Red Keep and start making their way towards the Throne room. "But I'll be a very mournful widow and teach everything about her father to the little one, I promise."

They're still jokingly glaring at each other when they make it to the main door of the Throne room. The announcer looks at them and does a double take at Jaime, who just smiles and arches up an eyebrow to his wife.

This is going to be fun.

"Lady Evenstar and Lord Tarth," the announcer proclaims after opening the double doors for them to cross. With the pomp and ceremony of their arrival, one would think is their presentation to the court instead of that of their baby nephew, the heir to the throne. It's possible that they are going to be talked about for longer than the baby.

The assembled lords and ladies turn to them as a man, and the whispers begin immediately.

Gods, he hates court.

_"Is that Jaime Lannister?_

_"Wasn't he dead?"_

_"Lord Tarth? That explains everything."_

_"Look at that dead cunt!!"_ that last one is unmistakably Bronn, staring at him with narrowed eyes.

He does his best to ignore the murmurs and stares of the court, his arm linked to his wife's, Tarth's cloak billowing behind him, his eyes fixed on the only people that matter: his brother and his nephew.

They have exchanged several ravens, but it's been years since they met last, below deck on a smuggling ship while the world burned around them. Seeing them now you wouldn't believe they are the same people, the Gods have been kind to them. Tyrion stands up from his chair, and so does Sansa. They had two simple chairs commissioned after the Iron Throne was melted, one of them adorned with direwolves the other with lions, both of them understated and beautiful. Jaime and Brienne stop in front of the Throne and bow deeply, or as deep as her belly allows in Brienne's case. "Your Grace," Jaime starts, and then he's being pulled into a hug by his brother while the Queen hugs his wife. "Brother," he says, chocked, and returns the hug tightly, almost painfully, sucking huge breaths through a closed throat.

"Jaime," Tyrion says, his voice as rough. "Come meet little Eddard."

Jaime does, looking in wonder at the small and round babe swaddled in crimson and grey. He's beautiful, with auburn air and pale skin and dark blue eyes which will probably turn clear. Jaime hopes his child will be as beautiful as this one and knows that without a doubt, in his eyes she will be.

"Welcome to your Kingdom, Eddard Stark."

…

The evening goes downhill from there, though that was a given considering they could only spend a few minutes with Tyrion and Sansa before they had to keep receiving courtiers.

Unfortunately, that means Jaime and Brienne have to mingle with the rest of the court, and while there are some people he doesn't mind spending time with, like Davos or Sam, there are some others he'd much rather not see again in his life, like Edmure Tully.

One thing he has to admit is that Brienne was right; if anyone still calls him Kingslayer, they're not brave enough to do so where not only the Queen and King can hear them, but also his lady wife, who is probably the scariest of them all. Even several moons along in her pregnancy she has refused to stop wearing Oathkeeper, having a new wider belt commissioned for her to wear it with her pregnancy gowns. Widow's Wail rests on his right hip, the weight of his sword comfortingly familiar.

Another thing he had not realized he missed until he got it back.

"I can see the Gods have favoured you," Edmure says, his lips curled in distaste. The feeling's more than mutual, Jaime has always found the man pompous and craven, and has little patience for veiled insults coming from him. "One wonders why, when they forsook so many." _So many more deserving_ , he doesn't say but Jaime still can hear it.

"Mayhaps they needed someone who wouldn't flinch to do right by the realm, even if they would lose life and reputation in the process," Brienne answers before Jaime has a chance to, her voice steady and her eyes hard on Edmure. "My Lord had forfeited his honour and his life to rid the Seven Kingdoms of one Targaryen tyrant a long time ago, mayhaps the Gods wanted him to do so again." Her gaze freezes several degrees visibly, and Jaime wants to take her away from court and fuck her against the first available surface. "Don't forget that if not for my Lord Husband, we'd be flying the Targaryen banner now, and you'd be cowering in your keep or bending the knee for the Mad Queen."

Edmure has been getting redder and redder in indignation, his mouth opening on a retort. Jaime takes Brienne's hand and starts pulling her away from him. "Apologies my Lord," he says, and his voice sounds low and heated. "But I need to take my wife to our rooms now."

"Jaime!" she protests, though doesn't stop him.

"I need to kiss you and taste you right now," he whispers and Brienne shudders. "I'm going to make you scream my name for the entire court to hear, I want them to know the pleasure I'm giving you."

" _Jaime_ ," she says, and this time is an almost a moan.

He can tell, by the tone of her voice and the darkness of her eyes, exactly how wet she is for him, and can almost taste her on his tongue. He feels his cock filling at the idea of her shuddering against his mouth, flooding it, and rues the distance to their rooms.

Once they are there, he wastes no time in closing the door and pressing her against it, his hand grabbing the nape of her neck to make her bend for a kiss while she unbuckles the straps of his hook, a lesson learned the first times they made love if she wants to keep her clothing unruined. It clanks to the floor, ignored, while they stumble to the bed, kissing all along. Jaime is too impatient to bother with clothes, so he just pushes her on top of the downy mattress and pushes the skirt of her gown up. Brienne is not idle, pushing her own smallclothes down her long legs and moaning encouragement to him.

He doesn't know who said women with child were less inclined to want to have sex, so far Brienne has proved to be insatiable, and Jaime is more than willing to indulge as many times as she wants.

He falls on her like a starving man, sealing his mouth to her nub and suckling until she's screaming and writhing under him, her hands tight on his hair and pressing his face suffocatingly hard against her sex. Jaime loves her when she's like this, uninhibited and wild, taking what she needs from him, and presses two fingers inside of her where she's slick and hot and needy. She bucks against him, her climax sharp and quick, and then pulls at his hair until he's climbing up to kiss her mouth, careful to balance his weight on his right forearm while she kisses his drenched face, his fingers still pumping inside of her.

She licks at his lips, sharing her own taste, and presses one of her legs against his straining erection.

"I want you inside of me, _now_ ," she commands.

Jaime has always obeyed his Lady's commands.

"Turn over," he rasps against her, "it will be easier and I won't hurt our child."

She complies, kneeling on the bed and bending her spine to press her forearms on the mattress, the curve of her beautiful and muscled buttocks enticing, her cunt glistening. He can't help but press a kiss against her folds, and Brienne squeaks before it turns into a moan when he presses his tongue inside of her.

"Not enough, Jaime," she moans, and just to be contrary he keeps at it for a moment longer, enjoying the desperation in her voice. "Do it, now."

He chuckles and moves away, just enough that he can undo his breeches and push them down his legs enough to free his cock, and then he's inside of her in one long stroke. He might have teased her too much, ignoring the effect she has in him because the moment he's sheathed inside of her, Jaime needs to stop and take deeps breaths, lest he spills immediately and leaves his Lady unsatisfied. He counts slowly to ten before he starts moving, his strokes deep and deliberate, and this here is heaven. Nothing the Gods have created can feel better than Brienne's body, nothing can taste better than her skin, nothing sounds better than her moans and grunts and her screams of pleasure.

He can't explain how he survived two years without this after having known it for weeks, but he knows he missed her more than his sword hand.

She pushes against him, urging him faster and deeper, and he complies because he can't do anything else, until they are rutting frantically, chasing their climax and he can feel Brienne start to tremble under him, and rues the lack of one hand to rub against her nub again and make her scream even louder. She gets there anyway, clenching around his cock and dragging his own climax out of him, making him spill.

Jaime presses a kiss against her neck and then collapses to the side, and Brienne slides slowly to her front, panting like they had been sparring for hours. He's sweaty and stuck to his clothes, his beautiful cloak still over his shoulders. In his eagerness to make love to his wife, he has not even noticed it was there.

"Help me with this?" he calls after a minute when the heat turns suffocating and the ties of the cloak too much of a challenge for someone with only one hand.

Brienne turns and stares at him with a put upon sigh. "You couldn't have waited to take the cloak off, what would you do if it's ruined?"

He smiles his most charming smile. "Why, I would have to marry you again, so you can drape another one over my shoulders."

She rolls her eyes and helps him take it off, and then tries to strangle him with it.

Their laughter is even louder than her previous screams of pleasure, not that they don't try to set the bar even higher a while later.

For the next years, it's not the very obviously pleasurable and very frequent sex they have that people gossip about in court. Is their laughter what draws the most envious comments.

Not that they care what people say about them.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I'm in tumblr here, https://aviss.tumblr.com/, if anyone wants to come shout with me about this season and Endgame

**Author's Note:**

> The way Jaime's and Cersei's relationship is shown in the books always struck me as abusive and that is the way I'm portraying it here, so in case anyone needs the warning, that's it. Abuse and unhealthy relationship. And of course, Violence, this is GoT after all.


End file.
